


Acquiescence; a grief awakened

by AttemptedNovel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Norse stuff mixed with the cinematic universe, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), it's pretty hectic in first chapter because loki is a different pronoun in like every flashback, mainly cinematic universe, more evened out as it carries on, pronoun changing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttemptedNovel/pseuds/AttemptedNovel
Summary: Loki has played this game before. Admittedly, he has never played it to such an extent but he has always revelled in chaos. Oh and, for future reference, it's much harder to kill a lie than it is to kill a truth.





	1. An awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any spelling mistakes. I'll try to weed em out. Also I'll probably rework this a bit when I'm no longer half asleep.

Does it fill you with trepidation? The never ending cycle? For if enucleation had any other name, would it not taste as salty? Would tears not be of the same turbulent truculence? 

Insipid insight is the dying breath of a man spiralled in the madness of his own memories, never to escape chains if flesh; the ponderous coveting of glory, poisoned by a serpents kiss; and child's mischief turned cold through ice and age. Perhaps, there was halcyon in such juxtaposition. Yet, in this universe, though better than others, apathy triumphed sentiment.

Sanguine. Oh, such an equivocal word: The blood red of his eyes and the loss of all optimism that shin through them. Pretend he doesn't know, why don't you? Pretend there was no reason behind the vindictive vituperation offered on silver tongue. Still, you are wrong. A mental game, though often over looked, is true victory. You can kill the body. They hardly need it. She relishes her mind games, how blood of the ears spills on her greened cloth. 

Rage: the thunders weakness and strength. It yields power, that much is true. The focus is lacking though. They told him that. Oh, they told him. And yet, here they are. Over and over again. Every cycle, every universe. Neck snapped, sword plunged in chest. It hardly mattered. They always died.

They had children. Many, many times. Not this cycle. Not this reflection of chaos. After all, that is all they are�an echo. All gods and goddesses were. Every giant to walk soot, dirt or ice included. All of them died so long ago...

They don't know. They don't...realise. Loki does. Loki remembered the burning of anger, like fire; the wrenching screams of venom akin to acid in his eyes; and the maddened soul, oh how insanity felt! They remember other things too.  
He remembers soft touches of a gentle wife. She remember the giddy feeling of dressing Thor up as Freya and marching to the giants. It is less prominent, though: it is as if such happiness is a mere droplet in contrast to the enraged cacophony of vindictive waves. It overwhelms them. They often toyed with the thought of beseeching the river of Lethe to lend them drink. It is just that though� a thought. Other pantheons offered no help. No, they were long gone. They were not gifted (punished) with endless lives.

It is a curse. It is a blessing. To remember is to watch their children die over and over, to feel occasional guilt seep into their gut as baldr's lifeless eyes lose light. Yet, with each life knowledge is bestowed upon them. With each birth, they are exonerated of their crimes. They hardly lack power. They have been many things in their lives. 

Once, they were flame. There was no Logi in a world with the god of fire as Loki. Other times, they walked Yggdrasil. They were known as wanderer�skywalker. They were the God of chaos. They were Loptr, the wind. They were Loke, Lucy, Luke and lopt. They were father of monsters and lover of giants. They were The god and goddess of lies and stories. They cared not what they were.

After all, what is the difference between a lie and a story, but the way society views them? What Is the difference between and queen and a whore, but the way they are treated? What is the difference between reality and dream, but the value you place in them? Nothing, if you wished to entreat answer. Or, perhaps an eternity. The lines become merged over the years and age doesn't always yield a wizened wise. Loki certainly doesn't know. He chose to forget long ago.

Death is hardly new to him. He sired a goddess of it in many lives. Loki knows better than to wait for the Norns to exculpate him. He isn't despondent. Nor is he forlorn. He wishes not to taste Valhalla's gates. 'Surely,' he ponders, 'they would reek of righteous hypocrisy anyway.' Frigg (or perhaps she would prefer the a this universe gifted her) would not miss him. He knew her as a mother for this cycle only. He knew Laufey as a mother in others (not that sentiment stopped him using gungnir). Would she hate him? Frigga, that is. He had killed her son in cycles past gone. Truly, she had also been fond of Thor. He had lived her, in this cycle. She would know that.

He isn't reticent. Or, perhaps he is. Thor is just as swift to fool himself. 'You really are the worst brother,' those were his words, were they not? Oh, the fool didn't know. Besides, it was hardly his first time having a liar as a brother. Tyr. In some cycles the brute bastard was a son of the one-eyed half-spawn. And by Ymir how he was a liar. He lost his hand for his tricks...

They were oh so noble, those warriors. Nobility didn't get you anywhere though. Well, unless you were looking for death. Each step from grace was a way to survive. Loki knew that well.

Earth had a funny idea about sinning. What they didn't tell you in school though, was each sin was really just a step further towards your goal. Lust was merely a means to an end. Greed was a way to get to the top and wrath was a glorious grin of beating those beneath you into the submission that built a bridge out of broken bones. Crack and crick...Slowly They formed a wry smirk that accompanied hollow eyes.

Loki gaped soundlessly at the space, gulping for air that wasn't there. Even if oxygen had graced him with its presence, he wasn't sure such sweet air would reach past his crushed windpipe to fill his lungs, he giggled�ever silent. Surely, his body was now a canvas, painted in the bruises that possessively kissed his neck.

How much time had passed? He'd never had a crushed neck before. Idly, he wondered how long his seidr had taken to mould it back into shape. He hummed a soft tune in his head. Only, he wasn't sure if it was soft. Cycles if Ragnarok and years in the void had twisted carefully thought if lullabies into aggressive melodies by now. Then again, was the off balance not a more pristine reflection of himself. 

Impatience. Yes, he agreed. He needed to move. Somewhere with air. His lungs burned now, more of an ache than an old comfort of flames long forgotten. In an almost stretch, he felt through the universe. Oh. What was that? Out damn spot. Will the seas of Neptune...curious. He prodded. 

Hissing sharply, he recoiled, panic bubbling in his chest. Impossible. Oh how he revelled in chaos. Yet, even for him, this was off balance. This was wrong. So very, very wrong. He would visit this Titan. Yes, a visit indeed...


	2. Infinity or eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary, ever so eloquent. But, I suppose you knew that.

Hidden. He was hidden. The shadows coddled him well. He was grateful. His neck still ached and the sunlight never did bode him well. 

The Titan sat in his view—sovereign in the sun. Loki was rather penurious in comparison, in both physical state and mental. His clothes were most certainly dishevelled. The shrapnel had made them more akin to drapes than form fitting leather. He would have scrunched his nose in any other situation. Always one for dramatics. Always the first to fall. The wind was nervous, but he wasn't the wind right now.

A gauntlet. He could almost cackle. Perhaps he would. The soul stone pulsed. Did it hold something? The other stones buzzed. 

Mind stone. It respected him. Though, it wasn't loyal: it knew him only as a fighter. 

Power stone. It's name held true. The sheer energy made his skin itch and his heart race. Loki hummed softly. It would calm him. It had to.

Reality. Oh, he liked this one. They had met, briefly. He had felt the power of it in the slap the human had given him. He had touched it's power on their travels in svartelheim. He had seen it's beauty in their fight with Malekith. It was the quintessence of chaos; something he Admired immensely.

Time, of course, evaded him. It's owner had been arrogant, belittling the stones power through his lack of use. He saw it's green glow on the gauntlet though. The second-rate magicians pride had failed him after all.

Space yearned for him, coveting his grip. He knew this stone best. He had cooed it into use, channelling his seidr into the stone and receiving an eternity of the stone's essence back. The casket had been natural for him to possess, but the space stone rivalled it.

Each energy coiled tightly and lashes out against the gauntlet. They importuned the metal to free them, restless in their swivets and effulgent in their lustrous impatience. They had acceded to the titans demands, though loki was sure of their acquiescence. The Titan abased them, earning their reproach through his trapping. 

Entropy defied extol. Yet, In odium hate was true and in truth there lacked falsehood. Balance became devoid--null. The universe had an eye for beauty, that much was true. However, it could also be said that the apple of every eye was to be begotten by chaos and besotted with harmony. The Titan knew this not. Perhaps, he merely turned a blind eye. Perhaps, he was crueler than the promised vows that left his mouth. After all, people do not earn the name 'mad' for their sanity. Nor do they earn it for hunger easily mollified...

Loki reached into the titan's mind. Only a touch. Only a touch. Was this fear? Or had survival's instincts finally blessed him with their presence. Either way, he darned not reach deeper. He hasn't a need to. He hadn't a yearning to. After all, curiosity killed the cat and he was running out of satisfaction to bring if back. 

A planet. No, a hull. He saw a battle. Hardly the revelation. No. Shhh. Look closer. He's there. Who? Brother. No. Blood does not run thick and water is viscous still. Yet he claims the title...He's alive, it doesn't matter. Does it not? Bedlam matters not to the humming bird. A title matters not to a shapeshifter.--We are everything--

But- oh, there was something else. Grief and morning. A sister and a role not so easily modelled. Loki knew these people. He could close his eyes an see them. He could open his eyes and watch them.

"I hadn't thought I'd see you again," the voice was tired, anger falling flat like carbonation stilled dry. Vague awareness flittered through Loki's mind: he had teleported. A husk of a man turned towards him.

"Hey reindeer games," stark lacked vigour. Solemnity beset him. As opposed to sadness, it was something. "Wasn't expecting to see you again," truth. Then again, statements often took that form. Or was it question? He could never remember. Betwixt falsity and sincerity, it hardly mattered. They were just words. A lie was a sweetened salt; a truth was a bitter joy. He knew both tastes well. For Thor's familiarity with thunder reflected his own familiarity with the woven words of speech.

Breath. Look forwards. Curious. The mortal looked at him. Stated at him? Had he become lost in thought? Time was such an intricate thing. And Loki-- well, Loki had lived many lifetimes. Seconds passed in the blink of an eye. Minutes were years of dragging against his sky-walking feet. Oh, and what a feat it was. 

Focus. Yes...perhaps he had waited too long. The mechanic looked at him still. (Not the mechanic of her own body. No, she didn't want anything of him. She knew not his worth and he ignored hers).

Were they expecting a response? Yes, Loki supposed they would. Still, the very thought of a croaked greeting stilled his tongue—an uncommon occurrence indeed. Momentary, though. Time moved. He moved with it.

"Fallible I am indeed," 

"What?" Admittedly, Loki could see where confusion lay to rest. It hadn't been an eloquent greeting, nor one that made sense to anyone but him an the ground beneath his cold and frigid feet. Where had his shows gone? 

"Anthony, apologies. Mortal ears tend not to their own alliteration and shingle. My mistake. Though, it often is. To others, of course. You see, just because something is punished, it's not necessarily a mistake," the words rolled of his tongue kindly now. Silver had final stilled from the vibrations of choking and the burning of fire (if fire still burnt him, that is.) 

"That madness finally hit you huh Loki," accusation surely. Neither truth nor lie. Accusations like this tended not to swing to one side of thing. 

"I know not of what you speak mortal," lie. He didn't need his the force of his powers to deduce his own words. He knew, oh how he knew. Death has welcomed him a few times before. But the last time...well, he had been enlightened; the knowledge of past selves bestowed upon him. It was riveting. It was agony. His children. They were gone. Perhaps one remained but...he supposed it was sorrow felt now. He hadn't known them for long, in this cycle. But he was sure he loved them. He had loved them in past cycles--sometimes. Not always. That's the problem with having so much in your head: it's hard to tell when one life begins and the next one ends. 

"Well I suppose I have a better chance of fixing my suit that picking at your head huh," it was an attempt at humour. Funny, Loki supposed. Though, it fell flat. The mortal was upset. Someone close to him. Likely in the 'snap'. Easy to tell, really. Body language was as easy to read as words and well, there was always the speck of dust on the bridge of Stark's nose.

"Likely considering the amount of scrap parts here, would you not agree Nebula," the android whipped her head around at the mention of her name. 

"Yes," the word was grunted and forced, making it's way out her mouth in a begrudging display. Huh, Loki would have thought she'd be happy to have the attention focussed on her. Or was that him? Perhaps he was projecting again. He did have a nasty habit of doing that.

Earth. Surely. Now. Brother? No, nephew. No. Friend, enemy, acquaintance. The battle wasn't just here. There was another. We have to go. Without them? Yes, leave them. No, we can't. Since when has sentiment ruled our head? When has it not? 

"Shhhhhh," Loki tapped his head now. "3, 6, 9, 2, 7..." Numbers often had a pattern. But these didn't. That was comfortable, the chaos of it.

"No one's speaking Loki," 

Oh, he had forgotten they were there.


End file.
